Italian Silk
by insalata di tonno
Summary: R27 "Dark, dark, dark silk. Italian." Sighs... "Was there ever another kind?" Updated and now deserves its rating. Slash
1. Chapter 1

Silk. Italian Silk.

Letters from the Sky. By Civil Twilight

Good song man… (woo-men) Err…

PWP…

Forgive me all those who know me and all those who had the unfortunate luck to accidentally click into my story… u. u

Note: italics are supposed to be thoughts. _Gah here goes... _

_--------------------_

Dark, dark, _dark silk. Italian_.

Sighs

_Was there __ever another kind?_

Briefly the man-child wondered, pondering on the end of his fountain pen. Brushes of chestnut horse-tail tied hair framed his bearing.

Natural, long, and somewhat embarrassingly effeminate; stark contrast to the definite-man lounging nearby in his customary smirk and fedora.

The hair, that is.

He had forgotten too many times to book himself for a cut, and now they only added to his unwittingly (and unknowingly) seductive image.

"Dame Tsuna, you sigh like a girl."

Frowning nervous amusement; "S-sorry, Reborn. I can't help it, ha…" honeydew eyes meets another pair too dark for him to understand and he feels like his mind is being read, again.

"Heh- eh? Reborn? You look strange"

"Hmph," the man ignores this statement and continues with the paper lightly held in his hands,

_Ah, those hands… _

Long slender fingers that look like they can do anything they please with death-like grip and excitement… Would the Italian be gentle with them? Rein in the power he wields, or unleash it whole, on whom ever the lucky (unlucky?) woman might be? _Wait, would it definitely be a woman…?_

He mentally smacks himself on the head, stupid, stupid, _stupid, I mean, what am I thinking of thinking just now? Eehhhrggh…I'm not making sense…_

He steals a quick glance to his far left, past the solid black mahogany desk he is perched behind. _How does he always look so graceful? Like… like a cat, no, not a cat, ah-a… a jaguar_

Another quick look. A small frown. _No, not a jaguar, that's too… Bulky. _He ponders some more, this small quandary needing to be solved before the mass of documents lying in wait before him can be dealt with.

_A white __Bengal tiger? _One more glance. _Not black enough._

The hitman straightens suddenly, stretching and relaxing his muscles, every movement well calculated and accounted for. Brimming with superior intellect.

_Maybe not an animal, huh. _

He ponders some more, his mind slowly taking it's time to bring about another idea, absentmindedly running a smooth finger around the rim of a delicate china teacup.

A lazy spring breeze wafts in, mixing the air in the room. The brunette breathes it in, eyes closed in a moment of content, not noticing the sly mafioso noticing his agreeable expression.

_Eh, it's getting to warm to think_, his eyes droop with languid thoughts of Armani suits and ebony silks.

He goes back to barely concealed silent admiration of the older man's wardrobe.

--------------------------

Eeeeeehhhhhhhhhhh…

*scratches head*

That was/is my First. Fan. Fic. Ever.

Omaigawsh

Normally I just read, and that was fine, but then one day my brain suddenly gave birth to this… ( Sorry for the horrible images)

Er I just hope it's not to bad, ne? Maybe I'll continue with this, maybe not depends on what you all think, like, is it good???

REVIEW-PPL-K-THAX-PLOX-BAI./

*headdesk*


	2. Chapter 2

Kay so this is what happens when my internet is capped and I realize I haven't uploaded anything even though I said I would. Gah forgive me…

Anywho, tried to do this thing where all the paragraph things start with 'The first thing he notices…' just to see where it would take me.

Disclaimer: Not mine, at all, 'cept the potatoes.

Also, Unbeta'd. So be gentle, but tell me if there are any mistakes. Kay?

Recommended song: 9 Crimes by Damien Rice.

* * *

The first thing he notices is the cock-sure tilt of his hat, the smirk beneath.

That smirk, borderlining on a downright sneer, but maintaining enough class to attract the admiration of everyone in the bar room.

Everyone, including him, apparently.

He is older now, and much taller _(but not enough, never enough so that he can feel equal)_ but he is so blazingly young in the face of this mafioso that once again he feels like the reluctant leader of a distant mafia in the middle of school and puberty again.

Back to the beginning of what he later dubbed 'The Start of my Actual Life,' back to when he was a nobody, back to when everything seemed both simpler and hopeless, that he was hopeless.

It was strange and a little ironic really, his tutor _(but is he anymore?) _who made him into_ something _could now, make him feel like nothing again, without trying.

_(Is that a new tie? I haven't seen him wear that one before…)_

He nurses his drink with the tips of his fingers, maintaining a posture so that he is both facing the entrance _(just like he had been taught)_ and seemingly nonchalant and relaxed _(this is so that people underestimate you, remember that.) _

He is the picture of youth, composure and power, just like how the 10th Vongola boss should look.

But he does not feel like it when, with an even more controlled and graceful movement, Reborn _(what is his name? His real name?)_ slides into the empty stool next to him, blocking his view of the door.

He smiles easily at his tutor despite the slight quickening of his pulse, and nudges another drink towards him, knowing he would appreciate the vintage port he'd ordered.

The Italian picks it up, with a thumb and two fingers, swills it, and tosses the whole thing down his throat.

The Vongola cocks an eyebrow, a worried smile tugging at a corner of his mouth, asksa question, but the Italian just laughs and waves off the concern, mentioning extra paperwork taking its toll.

The brunette is satisfied and asks about something trivial, and for a while they blend into the bar, just two men meeting for drinks, and the night wears on.

* * *

The first thing he notices, is that it's morning.

It is morning and he can't remember how it came to be, as he does not remember going to sleep.

He looks around, and he is in a typical velvet curtained, four poster bed. This bed is found everywhere in the Vongola bedrooms, but he knows it isn't found in his room _(He much prefers a single-it feels less empty) _so he knows that something isn't right.

The next thing he notices, is that someone has undressed him so that he is in his underwear only, but there is no one lying next to him.

The absence of another body bothers him, but he doesn't know why (won't allow himself to wonder why) he gets up, gets dressed, notices that a note is left, in Reborn's handwriting, on a fresh pile of clothing, and it manages to both belittle him in his ability to handle alcohol and yet, encourage a small smile.

He spends the rest of the day in a normal routine, that is, as normal as a mafia boss' routine could be _(frequent near death experiences can become normal)_ and doesn't think much of the missing night in his memory.

He is not worried, he knows he was with Reborn, and though this man was not to be trusted with much, he could be trusted with keeping the brunette reasonably safe. _(He shivers a little at this thought, for some reason)_

However, he is forced to reconsider this assumption when walking along a corridor at around midnight, he finds himself pushed against a wall quite suddenly, and realizing it is Reborn, tones down his shout of warning to a mere squeal of protest.

He is about to demand answers when, with a hiss of breath, he find his lips meeting the hitman's and he forgets whatever important thing he was about to say. In the midst of tugging at the older man's tie and feeling the silk of his shirt he finds himself being pushed down into another poster bed, and

he does not complain about the awkward angle of his body.

* * *

The first thing he notices when he jolts from the fog over his brain is that this whole sex-with-a-man thing hurts very, very much.

The next is that he is surrounded be the smell and feel of Reborn, and he is whispering and moaning in his ear, one hand gripping his hips to grind against the Italian's, the other playing delicately between the spaces of his thigh and groin, telling him that he needs to relax,

to relax more, and to just let him _take him_. He feels barely conscious, like all of his functions have ceased to work, barring the ability to moan, and moan loudly.

The hitman has started moving, and though it still hurts the pain is now mixed with a strange feeling of ecstacy, like nothing he ever experienced before from his own forms of sexual release.

He notes, distantly, that his hands, braced on the bed, are gripping a black silk shirt, and he wonders for a moment at his own strange fixation with the older man's clothing, but then Reborn starts hitting deeper and suddenly he has to battle with himself to stop moaning so loud that others might hear

_(though it would be just his luck that people have already heard)_ the slick sounds of sex fills the room, and the Vongola feels the blood warm lips of his tutor glide down from the back of his ear to the base of his neck, then across to his shoulder where he leaves a bruising suck of a kiss,

and he can just _feel_ the triumphant smirk of the lips against his shoulder blade, while the roaming hand teases goosebumps over his chest and lower stomach, tracing meaningless patterns that somehow matters very, very much to the brunette.

All too soon he can feel the build up, low in his groin, the wave after wave of mind-numbing pleasure, he knows he can't _(won't?)_ last much longer and he lets Reborn know, with hisses and half started sentences, more frantic twisting of the silk in his hands,

and-there, yes, right there, _(ohmygod right there)_ and that is what has been missing in his life, what has kept him sighing at the hitman all this time, and with one desperate jerk upwards he feels himself spill on the sheets _(and a little on the shirt) _and not long after he hears the

panting moan of Reborn in his ear, feels the wetness inside, and they have collapsed, two spent forms, limbs tangled, sheets soaking in sweat and, and,_ (and ohmygod did that really just happen?) _

* * *

The first thing he notices is that Reborn is not there.

There is no sign of him in the room and all his clothes are gone. The bed is… Not cold, not cold but not warm either. He wonders if maybe everything was a dream.

He lies back down heavily and feels something cool slide around his arm, he looks and notices a new tie complete with a note and he smiles.

He gets up, gets dressed, and soon a new routine is established.

_(you ruined it with your scrunching so you might as well keep it)_

* * *

Alright~! So~! Review to encourage me to waste more time~! Yea~!


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